


The Silver Lining

by marvelouskatie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America Civil War Spoilers, F/M, Post Civil War, basically me trying to write something that is canon-ish, for how Bucky and Darcy might meet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6898855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelouskatie/pseuds/marvelouskatie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post Civil War Wintershock Canon-ish one shot.<br/>Darcy is caught in the middle of an attack while on a diplomatic mission in Wakanda, when she is tasked with a life or death mission by King T'Challa himself. Darcy has no idea what she's about to get herself into, but it's definitely all Jane's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silver Lining

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for a few days because of all my Civil War feels. The second time I saw the movie I actually got distracted thinking how Darcy would fit into it all. Oops!
> 
> My lovely bud Erin (theskiddlyboop) help encourage this plot bunny. She also helped beta and correct all my terrible spelling! 
> 
> **Note: I get a little science-y in this. But I am in no way a scientist or a doctor. I did bare minimum research to make certain things sound as real as I could. So if you are medical professional who knows better, my apologies if you cringe as you read certain bits. And if you feel compelled to offer pointers or educate me, have at it! I love learning :)

Darcy wasn't sure if the cracking sound came from her ankle or the heel she'd just snapped while running away from bad guys. She stumbled, banging her shoulder against the wall, and kicked off her broken shoes. The heel of her black Mary-Jane pumps snapped clean off. 

She was definitely blaming Jane for this. 

It was Jane's idea, after all, for her to “fly the nest” and put her poli-sci degree (that she'd finally had a chance to finish between alien invasions) to use. Her proximity and experience with Thor and S.H.I.E.L.D. made her uniquely qualified for a diplomatic mission to Wakanda. 

Jane had floated her name to Tony Stark and before she knew it she was being vetted by Pepper Potts herself, assigned to a team that included Natasha Romanoff, and sent to Wakanda on a trip that was supposed to last a week. She'd been there for three. Apparently, amending the Sokovia Accords was a little bit more of a challenge than everyone thought.

Sounds of gunfire rippled down the hall behind her. She took a breath, easing weight down onto her ankle, hopping back instantly. A sharp shot of pain burned from her heel around to the top of her foot.

"Fuck.”

Injured foot or not, she had to keep going.

As soon as they received word that the palace safety had been breached, Romanoff had jumped into action, ushering the important people in the room toward safety. Darcy had moved to follow, until King T'Challa himself had grabbed her by the arm and yanked her in the opposite direction.

She was a little surprised. Their interactions had been brief, but he seemed as amused as most people were by her wit and candor. Darcy was no wilting flower around anyone, whether they were superhero, royalty, or the barista in New York that made her lattes, she treated everyone the same.

The King of Wakanda had shoved a key card into her hand, which Darcy recognized as an access card. She had one too, as a guest in the palace, that allowed her into her state room and a few other places. In spite of the age and history of the country and palace, everything was pretty high tech. The royal family and select Dora Milaje had chips implanted into their wrists that allowed them unlimited access to the palace and the grounds.

Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the gigantic panther statue that looked over the dreary, jungle day, and she recalled the King’s instructions.

"You must get to the chamber," he told her. "It's a matter of life and death."

He fired off a list of directions for navigating herself to this mysterious chamber. Once he was sure she’d committed them to memory, he offered no other explanation, and His Majesty rushed off to join the fight. 

Another gun pop, closer this time, made her jump. Someone was coming in her direction, possibly after whatever she was trying to get to first. The chance to catch her breath was over. It was time to keep moving. 

Darcy limped along the bright corridor, using the wall for support as much as she could, to alleviate the weight from her ankle. Each step felt like a hot knife, stabbing straight into her heel.

At last she rounded the corner and found a door at the end, swiping the card over the access panel, the golden and white doors wooshing open. Darcy quickly realized she was in the King's private apartment. 

The door slid shut and she hobbled in the direction of the King's private study. Following his instructions, she found the secret door. She’d always wanted to pull out a false book or a candlestick and find that it was actually a lever to a secret hallway. The section of shelves lifted away and revealed a door. Once again she passed the card over the scanner for verification. 

Unlike the pristine, white halls of the palace, this stairwell and corridor she faced with was dark and old. 

"A secret passage," she said to no one, more intrigued than scared. "Awesome!" 

Darcy pulled her phone out of her pocket and clicked on the flashlight, letting it lead her down into the secret tunnel. Her ankle throbbed, but she assumed it wasn't broken, considering there weren't any bones trying to poke out of her skin. She held onto the craggy, charcoal walls of the cave as she limped along.

The stairs went down, down, down in a spiral of dark and damp. She gulped, trying not to think of how far she may be venturing down beneath the Earth. It was not the time for latent claustrophobia to kick in.

Finally, she reached the last steps, and came to a short hallway. It was more like a cave, with jagged, dark rock walls, so black it was unlike any stone she'd ever seen. The giant door that tucked in at the end of the cave looked solid and heavy, built to withstand something very heavy, very strong, or very dangerous. 

"Or meant to keep something from getting out." Darcy theorized to the shadows.

She shook her head, quickly dispelling the thought, but ever the more curious as to what the heck the King sent her to retrieve or find or whatever. He'd been fuzzy on the details, only stating that it was a matter of life and death.

In spite of the medieval doom and gloom of the cave, there was one last scan lock waiting for the swipe of her key card. This time, a voice sounded from the tiny locking device.

"Rogers, Steven," it called her. "Access granted."

Steven Rogers. Steve Rogers? As in the former Captain America? As in fugitive of the United States government, last seen in Siberia, reported missing for the past 8 months. 

Was King T'Challa hiding fugitive superheroes in his secret Bat Cave or whatever this was? 

The door hissed and clicked open. It was a hidden storage room, filled with books, artifacts, and one other very large, very unexpected object.

"Holy shit."

Darcy glanced up at the glass tube. Inside was a man, sleeping. Brown hair fell across his brow, tubes hooked into his one arm--the other was missing. Soft blue and white light glowed within the interior of the tube. A soft whir of machinery echoed and hissed in turn from the machine, belonging to whatever life support was keeping the man alive and at rest.

Darcy stepped toward the man, placing her hand against the glass, finding it cold to the touch. A light spattering of frost kissed the edges of the glass window. The man inside was suspended in cryostasis.

"Holy shit," she said again, a little louder, a little more disbelief in her voice this time. 

She was a smart girl, she could put two and two together. His face was mostly obscured by scruff and hair so she couldn't ID him on looks alone, but the missing arm was a big clue. Darcy was staring at the sleeping form of James Buchanan Barnes aka The Winter Soldier.

There'd been rumors about what had happened when The Winter Soldier had gone missing around the same time as Captain America. Although he'd been absolved of the terrorist attack on the U.N. in Vienna, he was still very much a wanted man. Some said that he'd been killed in action, during a brief battle at the Berlin airport. Other claims said he'd died in Siberia on an unsanctioned mission with Captain America. Other still insisted that he was at large and possibly back under Hydra control.

Of course, being in her position, Darcy had overheard a few of the more personal details of the Avengers' lives. Like the fact that Tony Stark blamed The Winter Soldier for his parents’ death. That is was possible Steve Rogers was on the run with his childhood best friend, trying to stay one step ahead of the law and Stark.

A lot of questions fought for her attention the moment she clapped eyes on James Barnes, but they all came to second to--

"What the hell am I supposed to do with you?"

Wake him up? Was that what the king wanted? He'd said a matter of life and death. It was obvious not that he meant the Winter Soldier’s life. Why was he even in cryostasis to begin with? Why was he not on the run? Darcy knew, if she were a fugitive, finally free from the Hydra assholes that had brainwashed her and turned her into a weapon, she’d be celebrating her newfound freedom on a beach somewhere throwing back Pina Coladas. Not cryo-frozen and at the mercy of whoever was babysitting her while she snoozed.

Maybe that was harsh. In all fairness, she had no clue how he’d ended up under a palace in Wakanda, under the King’s protection.

The palace was being evacuated. If Barnes was left behind, forgotten about, or found by the wrong people...it wouldn't be good for him. She was willing to bet that she had become one of few who knew his location. Whatever access she had, had actually belonged to Steve Rogers. King T'Challa had trusted her to find Barnes and know what to do.

"Okay, okay," she said, rallying her courage. She shook her shoulders and cracked her neck back and forth. "First thing's first...thawing your frozen ass out."

There was a control panel on the side of the machine. Darcy hoped it was user friendly. Her technical expertise were well-developed when it came to computer hacking, but not so much for medical machinery. She clicked a button that looked promising and jumped when the door hiss and slid open.

So far, so good.

Frosty air hit her cheeks and rustled the stray hairs falling from her hair twist. Now that the frosty glass was gone, Darcy could see Barnes’s chest moving up and down in long, measured breaths. His skin a slight blue color, possibly due to the IV liquid running through a tube in his arm.

Being the curious girl that Darcy was, she'd done some light reading--i.e. Wikipedia--research on the Cryo process. There were different ways the process went down, the degrees of safety debated by medical professionals.

One method she recalled, was through replacing the blood with a special cryogenic liquid. It helped to preserve the veins, organs, and muscles of the person undergoing cryostasis, so they didn’t deteriorate during sleep.

Darcy bit her lip, touching the little tube of blue liquid running to Bucky’s arm. The liquid moved in and out of his body, recycling itself with each pass. When put under cryosleep with this particular method, the patient required a blood transfusion. And there was only one place blood was currently available.

“It’s your lucky day, Barnes." Darcy removed her blazer and rolled up the sleeve of her blouse. "I'm a universal donor." 

Darcy watched enough TV to know that there were probably a ka-jillion things she was doing wrong with her foray into guerrilla medicine, but TV knowledge was all she had to go on. She disconnected the tube from the bag with the cryo-liquid and pulled the second IV needle from his arm.

Blue leaked from his veins down his arm, a little red mixed in. She tried to ignore the way the bodily fluids made her gag, hooking the second needle to the other end of the tube, so that there was a needle on each end of the tube.

"I really don't want to do this," Darcy groaned looking up at him. Of course, he had nothing to say about it. "I hate blood. And pain. And needles."

Gritting her teeth, Darcy jabbed the needle into her wrist. With a sharp pinch the silver broke through her skin.

"I'm going to assume super soldier serum gives you immunity to blood born diseases that I could catch," she muttered. "But I guess it's a little late to worry about that."

Her fist pumped and slowly, red began to pull from her arm and inch along the tube toward Barnes's arm. Donating blood was something she'd done a few times at Culver when the student council would hold campus blood drives. She hated needles, but she really liked free pizza.

Faint explosions could be heard through the ceiling. They didn't freak her out too much, until bits of rock and dust began falling around her hair. She'd clicked off her phone light, to conserve battery, but there wasn't service that far underground anyway. The only light in the hidden room, came from the cryo-machine. Other than that, it was pitch black. 

She hoped there weren’t crazy African spiders or rats or other weird jungle pests down there with her.

Darcy tried not to think of the dark room, the lack of windows, the enclosed space. She tried not to think about the fact that she could be trapped down there, without food or water or anyone else.

"If you don't wake up, I'm going to die alone. Every 20-something single girl's biggest nightmare." She chuckled at her own humor. It was a nervous, uncomfortable sound. "Or I could be killing you right now. I'm not a doctor and I've only interned for an astrophysicist...so this whole transfusion thing might not even work." She gave his arm a sort of timid pat. "If I kill you, I'm sorry." 

The idea of him dying in his sleep made her even more sad. "Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be like...enjoying life free from Hydra?" she wondered out loud. She needed to talk. Conversation would distract her from the precariousness of her situation and the needle jammed into her arm. 

"It would suck to go out like this, in your sleep, completely unaware." She brushed her hair off her face and cradled her arm, wishing she had a chair or something to sit on. Her foot ached and the adrenaline from running for her life was wearing off. "My grandma died when I was five and they said she went 'peacefully in her sleep' and let me tell you, it freaked me the fuck out as a five year old to hear that people could die in their sleep and never see it coming. I was scared to sleep for a whole week until my mom told me that only happens with old people and I had nothing to worry about. Still..." her arm was starting to ache a little. "It's a scarier way to go. I'm not saying I'd want to be like, stabbed or shot or something, but I don't know...the idea of falling asleep and never waking up is terrifying." She grinned up at him. "Wow, this is some pretty heavy talk for a first date."

Darcy hopped around on her good foot to stand directly in front of the tube. Her unfortunate short stature, and his position made it difficult to see him face to face.

"I'm supposed to be distracting myself from scary things, not thinking of other scary things," she said to him. "So, James...can I call you James? What's a nice, ex-soldier/assassin/terrorist doing in a place like this?" 

Her dad was a History Channel addict. She'd grown up with the sounds of different World War II documentaries in her house as background noise. She'd seen the HBO mini-series about the Howling Commandos many, many times. They'd written James Buchanan Barnes, best friend to Steve Rogers, as a ladies’ man. Good looking, quick-tongue, with a devilish smile, played by James Dean type actors.

Darcy reached up to move the hair off his face and get a better look. "Ya know, I've seen the pics from back in the day and you were certainly a panty-dropper. But I don't know...this scruff, long hair thing is doing it for me...personally..."

The tips of her fingers grazed his jaw. She wasn't expecting his eyes to pop open at that exact moment. Darcy startled as Barnes crashed back into the land of the living, his frantic eyes meeting hers.

Aware and on the defense, he tried to lift his body from its tilted position, only to topple forward and land right on top of her. Darcy had time for a little yelp of surprise, before she was being thrown down by 250 pounds of super soldier. She crashed to the ground, Barnes on top of her, knocking the wind from her lungs with a sharp hit.

The disoriented Barnes jumped back, hitting the back of the cryo machine, still weak from atrophy. The change in their positions and proximity cause the needle in Darcy's arm to rip away.

"Aggh!" Darcy cried, slamming her palm against the flow of blood and pain in her wrist. "Fuck!" James looked confused, frightened, and a little bit menacing all at once. "Calm down, it's fine, I'm not going to hurt you." 

It took a few breaths for him to believe her, his eyes and head flicking around and observing his surroundings like a scared animal. Tension rolled from his shoulders and he let out an exhausted, but relieved breath.

Darcy's own heart rate began to slow, as she crawled over to her blazer, still applying pressure to her wrist. Her head felt a little swimmy. She grabbed her blazer and held it in both hands, tugging at the inner lining and trying to rip it.

Barnes watched her like a hawk, his back leaning against the machine.

"Where am I?" His voice was rough, crackling with disuse.

"Wakanda," Darcy grunted, trying again to tear the sleeve from her jacket. "Under the palace. Which is currently under attack."

"Attack?" That caught his attention. "By whom?" 

"No clue," she grunted again at her third attempt and failure to rip the fabric. 

"How long have I been asleep?"

"No clue about that either," Darcy said with another tug. "Best guess...six months? Until fifteen minutes ago, I didn't even know you were alive."

"You know who I am?"

"Yep." 

"Who are you?" 

"Darcy Lewis," she answered, punctuating her introduction with around tug and grunt and heave. With a dramatic exhale, she gave up trying to rip her blazer, slumping back in an unladylike position on the ground, exhausted.

"What are you doing?" He asked her. 

"I'm trying to make a bandage for my wrist and your arm," she explained, a little disgruntled. "In case you haven't noticed, you have a giant needle and tube hanging from your elbow."

He looked down at his arm as if seeing it for the first time. When he looked up at her again, Darcy flashed her own bleeding wrist for him to see as well.

"You gave me your blood?" 

"Uh huh," she was feeling a little tired. "I'm not a doctor or anything, but I didn't know what else to do. King T'Challa mentioned life or death situation and I didn't have much to go on besides maybe he wanted me to wake you up and get you out of here."

Man, she was really wishing for a brownie or an orange slice. Her blood sugar level was way below sea level. Would it be cool if she took a nap?

She heard a ripping sound and realized she'd shut her eyes for a moment. Long enough that Barnes grabbed her blazer and was successfully shredding it, using his one arm and a foot to hold it in place and tear the fabric. She didn’t know if she was grateful or discouraged that he could do with one arm what she’d failed to do with two.

"Give me your wrist," he requested, scooting toward her. Darcy offered her wrist and let him tie a strip of fabric around it to stop the blood flow. He was spectacularly good at tying a knot one handed.

When he was done, Darcy grabbed the other strip he'd torn. "Let me," she said, nodding at the needle still hanging from his vein. 

He sat back on his haunches and let her tend to him, not even flinching when she pulled the needle from his flesh. Darcy, on the other hand, gave a little shiver.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I don't like blood," she answered, tying off the strip. "Or needles." 

"Not what I'd expect from a gal who performed a blood transfusion on the fly." 

"I'm full of surprises," she replied, smirking. It wasn’t the most appropriate time for flirting, but she lacked the appropriate filter in most situations. She finished tying off the knot and sat back. It had taken more energy than she realized to sit up. “So, what now?”

“You tell me,” he said. “You woke me up.”

“Hey,” she wagged a finger in his direction. “That sounds dangerously close to indignant. This wasn’t my plan. I don’t have a plan. I’m following a scant amount of directions from the king and the rest is assumptions. I don’t know who is attacking or why or if we should stay down here or if we should try to escape.”

The Winter Soldier rolled his shoulders, the half metallic stump on his left making a tiny circle. He flexed out his right arm. Darcy stared a little, relying on the low light to cover her curiosity. He may have been missing an arm, but the right one more than made up for it. His bicep bulged and curved as he stretched out and tested his limbs.

“What happened to the metal arm?”

A wall went up over his face. “You know who I am.”

It was a statement not a question.

“I spend a lot of time around Romanoff and Thor and am acquainted with Tony Stark,” Darcy explained. “Plus, my dad is a huge World War II buff.”

“How acquainted with Tony Stark are you?”

“Uhh…” She faltered, realizing that her lack of filter was putting a damper on their potential partnership. “Look, I don’t know all the details of the...thing we do not speak of with Tony and Captain America...but I’m of the opinion that crimes committed under the influence of mind control, aren’t really your fault.”

James nodded, slowly, and continued his stretching. Darcy wasn’t sure if she’d given him the answer or reassurance he’d been looking for or not.

“What was happening before the attack? And during?” 

Darcy gave him the run down of her experience, accompanying the Black Widow and other representatives to Wakanda for the restructuring of the framework of the Sokovia Accords. While they’d worked as a buffer for public superhero opinion, it was clear they weren’t going to work long term as a facilitator of enhanced persons. Especially given the fact that new “heroes” were popping up all over the world, with their own agendas toward justice, and none seemed particularly worried about being kept in line or answering to a governing body. The current Avengers were spending more time throwing good guys in lock up than they were concentrating on actual bad guys.

Another explosion shook the ceiling, more dust raining down on the pair. Both sets of eyes flicked up to the source of the sound, when another blast was heard, this time from the direction of the stairs. Darcy’s gaze snapped to the sound. Dread squeezed her chest. 

“The door is hidden,” she said, trying to reassure herself. “It’s the King’s private quarters.” 

“Won’t stop anyone if they know what they’re looking for,” Barnes countered. “How well do you know your way around the palace?” 

“Well enough,” she answered.

“Can you stand?” 

“Can you stand? You’re the one who’s basically been in a coma for eight months.”

His mouth twitched, in what was probably meant to be a smile, but didn’t quite make it. He was out of practice when it came to smiling. 

“Super soldier serum makes for quick recovery time,” he told her. “So, those surprises you mentioned you were full of...would those happen to include any weapons?”

Darcy peered up at him. “Does vicious rhetoric count?”

“This is going to be a either a real interesting or real short escape.” 

“Hey, it’ll be a great story to tell our kids some day.” The joke landed her an interesting look from Barnes. She flashed him a grin. “Oh come on, this is like the tropey-est of meet cutes. Girl meets boy on a dangerous mission to save him. We’re definitely going to fall in love after this and get married and have a million kids and grandkids and you’ll be on front porch somewhere in fifty years, all wrinkled with dentures, still swearing up and down that I’m just as pretty at 80 as I was the day you met me in a secret, royal Wakandan cave.” 

Barnes was searching around in the dark as she spoke, reaching behind the cryo machine. “A million kids, huh?”

“Yep, you’re stuck with me now James Barnes.” 

He laughed outright and yanked a bag from the back of the machine. Darcy liked the sound of his rusty laugh. He definitely needed some more time in the laughing department. If they got out of this little predicament, she wouldn’t mind getting the chance to make him laugh again. 

Barnes pulled on the backpack he’d snatched from some hidden compartment and fastened the clips at his chest. He stretched a hand down to Darcy. “Time to go.”

Darcy took it and let him pull her up, completely forgetting about her bum foot, until the moment she put weight on it. “Ahh, shit.” She hopped off the weight, gripping his forearm for balance, her head spinning a little. “I twisted my ankle earlier. Not so great at running in heels.” 

James knelt down and took her bare foot in his hand, his fingers skimming the skin of her ankle. His touch was feather light, as he prodded the slight swelling at the top of her foot. She hissed as he hit a particularly sensitive point.

“Not broken, just sprained or a torn ligament,” he assessed. “Can you put any weight on it?” 

“If I have to,” she resolved.

“Lean on me,” he instructed, offering her his left side, leaving his one arm free. Darcy wrapped her arm around his waist and leaned her weight against his hip. 

Once again, Darcy used her phone to light their way, and they started in the direction of the stairs. Their walk was something similar to a three-legged race. She could feel herself sweating, weak from the blood donation and the exertion of climbing stair after stair after stair.

“You still with me?” he asked her.

“Mhmm,” she answered. They were close to the top. Darcy could hear muffled voices on the other side of the door. She was feeling rather woozy. James stopped their climb and set her down on the steps around the corner from the view of the door.

“How do you open the door?”

“Key card,” she said, reaching into her bra where she’s stashed it. “I saw that.”

“Saw what?”

“You sneaking a peek at the goods,” she chastised. She was feeling so light headed. A nap, even on the dark, damp stairs sounded pretty good. “I’ll let you get away with it because you’re my future husband.”

James didn’t respond, taking the key card, and climbing the last few steps to the door. Darcy couldn’t see him from where she sat, the light of her phone to dim to make out anything other than his outline in the darkness.

A few moments later he came back and crouched next to her, face serious.

“I’m so tired,” Darcy whined.

“You’re weak, from blood loss and body trauma.” He explained. “I can’t carry you and defend us both at the same time. Stay here, stay quiet.” It was an order, but a gentle one. “I’m going to see what we’re dealing with, then I’ll come back for you. Don’t pass out. If I’m not back in five minutes...go on your own.”

Darcy reached up and squeezed his arm. She knew almost nothing about James Barnes, aside from what history books and news leaks told her. In the thirty minutes or so that he’d been conscious, she could already tell he was a man much deeper than anyone seemed to think. She already felt an attachment to him and genuinely hoped he would be okay. Not because he was her best hope for getting out of the palace alive, but because she already cared about him. 

“Not to be all negative Nancy, but are you sure you’re good with one arm?” 

“I was trained to fight with one arm, no arms, one leg, no legs--”

“No one likes a bragger, Barnes.” 

His mouth twitched. “Five minutes,” he reminded her. “I’ll be back.” 

Darcy clicked off the light on her phone and James disappeared. 

Okay, Terminator, she thought to herself, setting the timer on her phone.

For a few moments, Darcy heard nothing at all, then the action sounds came. The grunts and “oofs” and cracks of fist and foot against bone. Two gunshots shook her, the blast sounds pounding straight to the center of her chest. She looked down at her timer and realized three whole minutes had passed.

Footsteps drew near and her breathing stopped. She had no idea if it was James coming to find her or someone else. She had no way to defend herself--save for the aforementioned vicious rhetoric. No weapons, a hurt foot, and whatever enemies were out there obviously had a gun. If someone wanted to hurt her, she wouldn’t be able to do much to stop it. 

The footfalls, heavy and quick, drew closer and she braced herself for whoever was coming.

“Oh, thank Thor,” she sagged as relief rushed through her at the sight of Barnes.

“Come on,” he said hoisting her up again. No time for pleasantries or relief. They weren’t out yet, merely past level one.

Barnes now held a gun in his hand as he limped them in up the stairs and back into the daylight. Outside, rain poured over the jungle. They made it through the den and into the main room of the King’s apartments. Darcy saw four men in black lying on the fine, expensive looking rugs, not sure if they were alive or dead.

“Which way?” Barnes asked before they slipped into the hall. 

Darcy had come from the council room, on the north side of the palace. To the right would be the guard rooms, probably not a great place for him to get caught, considering his fugitive status. Everyone she’d been with was probably tucked away in some sort of panic room. The King, Natasha, and the guards would be fighting through whoever was attacking. It would be easier to know which way to go if she could guess which way the fighting would be. 

“Darcy?” he urged.

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking!” Her decision needed to be quicker. Escape from the palace had to be their plan. Barnes couldn’t be seen and that meant they were running off together. “The conservatory,” she finally said. “There’s an entrance to the gardens. We can make our way covered through the grotto and hopefully find a way out.”

Barnes nodded and followed her directions. Walking was difficult, Darcy was feeling more tired by the second, and the conservatory was on the other wing of the palace. Barnes kept watch through the halls, vigilant at every corner and nook, searching for enemies. The eerie quiet kept Darcy on alert. The sounds of violence would almost be more comforting. At least she would know where the bad guys were and how to keep away from them.

As they walked along the halls, debris and other signs of damage littered the floors. Statues, vases, and other works of art that decorated the walls lay cracked and crumbled. The palace had truly taken a hit. Darcy wondered what the hell was going on. Was it just because of the Accords that some group had decided to fire on them or was there something else going on within the reclusive, little country.

They made it to the conservatory, Barnes quickly checked for enemies and locked them inside. Darcy jumped when her phone started vibrating in her hand. Jane’s name and picture flashed on the screen of her Stark phone.

“Hang on,” she said to Barnes. If Jane was calling maybe she had some news she could share that would be helpful. He sat her down on a chaise to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Thank goodness, you’re okay.” Jane’s relieved voice filled Darcy’s ear. Darcy looked down at her twisted, swollen foot. Her eyes still fighting to close. James walked the perimeter of the room, inspecting the corners and drawing the shades.

“Debatable,” she replied. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“No, the news has only reported an attack on the palace. The Avengers are on their way to Wakanda now. Thor’s with them.” Darcy saw Barnes tense as he came to a standstill next to her. The Avengers meant Stark would there, too. They definitely had to get out and get him far away. “Where are you? Why aren’t you at the rendezvous?”

“I had something to take care of,” Darcy answered vaguely, gaze flicking to James and away again. “How’d you know?”

“Romanoff checked in with Stark, he mentioned you were among the missing,” Jane explained. “I was so scared something happened to you.” 

“Jane, I’m fine. It seems like everything has calmed down--I’m gonna get to--” 

Darcy didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence. A huge blast came from the east windows and her body was thrown back, Barnes once again landing on top of her, shielding her from whatever blast had obliterated the room. Rock and stone and debris rained around them as Darcy coughed and fought for breath, the impact of his body and the ground knocking the wind from her lungs.

“Darcy!” Barnes yelled. Her vision swam, dusting invading her nose and mouth as she fought to catch a breath. “Darcy! Come on, don’t pass out!” 

“Barnes? Jane?” Wasn’t she on the phone a second ago?

“Come on,” his fingers patted insistently at her cheek. She wanted to swat him away, but couldn’t move. “Stay with me, Darcy. Stay awake. Talk to me…” 

She groaned. “So tired.” 

“I know, I know you are,” he told her, thumb passing over her cheek, just under her eye. “But you gotta stay awake.” He rolled to the side, taking his weight off of her body. “We’re not going to fall in love or get married or any of that stuff you mentioned if you don’t stay awake.” 

“It’s bad form to fall asleep on the first date,” Darcy chuckled then winced. It hurt to laugh. 

“Yeah it is,” he agreed, slipping his hand behind her neck. “Don’t sleep.”

“Barnes…” 

“Bucky,” he said. “My name is Bucky.”

“Bucky.” She smiled, fog filling her brain.

She didn’t want to sleep, she wanted to stay awake. They had to keep going, they had to get out and to safety. But she didn’t have a choice. Her body was in charge, not her brain. The last thing she felt was Bucky shaking her, begging her not to sleep, before she passed out.  
.  
.  
.  
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Darcy’s eyes slid open and slammed shut again. The world was bright. Way too bright. And she’d been having a nice dream.

“Welcome back.”

She heard the deep, smooth voice of Natasha Romanoff at her side. Darcy slit her eyes open again, allowing a chance to adjust to the brightness.

She was in a hospital room, wearing an aqua colored gown, her legs wrapped in a comfy, but generic quilt. One of her arms was hooked up to an IV. The other--that previously had her makeshift blazer bandage wrapped around it--had been properly cleaned and taped up. Her hurt foot was slipped into a medical boot, elevated by two pillows.

Darcy rubbed her eye. “Where am I?”

“In a Berhanu Hospital,” Natasha explained. She was suited up for action, Darcy wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign. “You were pretty lucky, that I found you in the Palace Conservatory, while scouting for survivors. You were passed out from blood loss.”

Warning colored Natasha tone. Darcy shouldn’t mentioned anything about James--Bucky. He said to call him Bucky. Darcy glanced around the room, disappointed to find that they were alone.

“What happened?”

“Terrorist attack,” the woman explained, walking over to the door and clicking the lock. “Your blood sugar was low, so the doctors hooked you up to an IV. Not sure what is wrong with your ankle yet. They noticed the swelling but decided to wait until you were awake to take you for an x-ray.” 

She slipped some small device out of her utility belt and clicked it, setting it down on the rollaway table by Darcy’s bed. It chirped happily and a little red light at the tip blinked on. Natasha perched herself on the mattress. 

“Want to explain why I found James Barnes carrying you out of a burning room?”

“I plead the 5th,” she replied innocently.

Natasha nodded at the little device. “Don’t worry, that little guy over there likes to eat bugs. No one is listening. Now...Barnes was with you. He used your phone and found my contact in it. He stayed with you until I came to find you and got you out.”

“And where he is now?” 

Natasha’s gaze fell. “I’m not sure.”

“Oh.” Darcy didn’t know what else to say.

“He hasn’t been apprehended, though,” she offered. “That’s good news. It was a risky thing he did, keeping you safe until help arrive. If anyone had seen him…”

Darcy nodded, she knew the risk, and she was grateful Bucky had stayed with her and made sure she was safe. Any doubts she may have had, knowing who he was and what he’d done, were obliterated by that single act. Any number of people could have caught him and turned him over to the authorities, or worse, killed him.

“Where will he go? What will he do? Where will he stay?” The questions spilled, unbidden from Darcy, in a frantic stream. All he’d had on him was the backpack he’d grabbed from the cave. She didn’t even know what was in it. He didn’t have clothes or food or a phone. No friends, no place for shelter. Outside was a foreign land, jungle and rain and strangers who might be afraid of him because they didn’t know any better. A guy with one arm and a hundred enemies.

Natasha was smiling a knowing smile, she reached down and squeezed Darcy’s hand. “He’ll be okay, as long as he keeps his head down. Self-sufficiency is sort of part of the gig.”

That made sense. He was a grown man. A trained soldier. He would know how to take care of himself, to protect himself. He didn’t need Darcy to worry after him. But she would.

“I’m going to find you some real food,” Natasha said, sliding off the bed.

“Do you think I’ll ever see him again?” Darcy asked. She felt a little stupid for it. But she couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was the excitement of their time together. Maybe it was the fact that he’d risked his life for her and she’d risked hers for him. They didn’t even know each other. But admittedly, in her brief time with the Winter Soldier, she’d developed a bit of a crush.

“Who knows,” Natasha answered with a little shrug. “I never rule anything out.” The Black Widow slipped from the room and shut the door.

Darcy lay back in her hospital bed, turning her face to the window. Drops of rain raced down the glass, the gray day turning into black night, as the jungle rains continued. If someone like Natasha, who had seen some pretty bad shit, who had every reason in the world to be cynical, thought there was the slimmest hope that Darcy and Bucky would cross paths again, she’d take it as gospel.

She shut her eyes and imagine good things for Bucky, wishing him well with a tiny, secret smile.  
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Steve was bad at hiding out, which didn’t come as a shock to Bucky. His friend had never been good at tucking tail and running. It only took a week for him to track Steve down. He was camped out with Wanda, in a town not far from Wakanda. It was strange to see him with a full beard.

They were pretending to be siblings.

Steve was shocked to see him, but relieved after hearing of the attacks on the palace. He knew from the brief contact he had with King T’Challa, that Bucky had made it out of the palace, but beyond that no one had a clue as to his whereabouts.

Bucky sat at the window of the tiny apartment in which they were living, a safe house they’d acquired through mysterious means. Guilt surged inside of him. Maybe if Bucky hadn’t survived Hydra, maybe if the Winter Soldier would have gone down, Steve’s stance on the Accords would have changed. Maybe they wouldn’t all be fugitives because of him. 

“We should be able to move out in a day or two,” Steve said, coming up behind him, and pulling out the chair on the other side of the tiny, card table that served as a dining space. Bucky stared into his cup of half drunk coffee, then glanced to the window. “Wanda will be glad. She hates it here. Too hot.” 

Bucky knew Steve was trying to make him feel better. His reappearance complicated things and their cover. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Bucky wasn’t supposed to be awake. But going under again wasn’t an option. With the uncertainty of the attacks, the Wakandan palace was no longer safe. The protection of the King was no longer guaranteed.

"I'm glad you aren't alone," Bucky told him. Little parts of the old Bucky still existed and one of those parts was one that worried over Steve, that remembered how his best friend always thought he had to shoulder his burdens all by himself.

"I'm glad you found me." 

I'm glad you didn't run, was what he meant. Bucky thought about it. He still didn't trust himself or his own mind, but perhaps being together was better than being on his own. At least this way, they'd have each others' backs. 

"What happened?" Steve asked. The news still had very little to say about the "random" attack of terror.

Bucky shook his head. "I don't know. One minute I was asleep and the next..." 

Darcy was there. Her bright blue eyes staring at him, reflecting the shock he felt upon waking. He'd feared the worst, his immediate study of his surrounds looking too much like the place he'd been stored in Siberia. He'd thought for a moment that it had all be a dream and that he was still prisoner in the cold wilderness.

"How'd you get out?"

They hadn't had a chance to talk yet, not really. Bucky had shown up at the safe house, Steve had given him something other than a dirty, white undershirt to wear, he'd cleaned up in the small bathroom, and then joined him and Wanda in the single room, defaulting to tense silence. Steve must have sensed his uneasiness toward Wanda, and sent her out to get food.

"There was a girl." 

That surprised Steve. "A girl? What girl?" 

Bucky frowned, staring at the threadbare yellow curtains that covered the window. “Darcy Lewis.”

Saying her name unlocked something within him. Words began to spill from his mouth, rapid fire, detailing every moment he’d experienced with the girl. He harnessed every detail of her, coral lips, smooth skin, the smudge of dirt on her face. Not just her looks, her quick wit, her unabashed flirting even in the midst of danger. He told Steve the same story she’d told him, how she came to Wakanda with Romanoff. The more he talked, the more he realized Darcy’s courage, selflessness, and quick thinking. Every second they shared, slotted into his mind in a new way. He realized what made him stay with her, why he’d panicked so hard when she went unconscious, why sitting there now he was desperate to know what happened.

Even though it would have been impossible to stay, he wished he could have. Just so his face would be the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes. Just as her face was the first thing he had glimpsed when he awoke again.

“Wow, Buck,” Steve let out a short, low whistle, rubbing his hand behind his neck. “I haven’t heard you talk this much in…and definitely not about a girl.” Steve grinned. 

“She saved me,” Bucky said. That’s all there was to it. She didn’t know a damn thing about him, except for whatever horror stories she might have known from Stark. But she’d saved him all the same.

“From what it sounds like, you saved her right back.” 

He hadn’t thought of it like that. He might have been that person back before Hydra messed with his brain. Steve was the hero. Bucky had become a weapon. Weapons killed people, they didn’t save them.

Yet he had carried her from the blast, hauling her over his shoulder as best he could, until they were safe again. Staying with her until Romanoff came for her, not knowing if the Black Widow would turn on him the moment she saw him. But he hadn’t cared. He stayed at her side until he was sure she was safe.

Wanda returned then, the bag she’d taken full of fruit, spiced meat, and mint tea. Ever the gentleman, Steve got up to help her prepare plates. She continued to give the boys their space, moving to the small stove to turn on the kettle.

“Darcy Lewis,” Steve repeated her name. “I never met her, but I remember hearing about her from Thor.” Bucky lifted his head, watching Steve smile with something that looked like admiration. “He said the first time they met, she tased him.”

A small breath of a chuckle interrupted his brooding, Steve’s shared story sounding exactly like the feisty woman he’d met. His own half-laugh still sounded foreign to his ears. The soldier, the asset, hadn’t found much joy in anything the way Bucky did long ago. His eyes caught Wanda’s curious side glance and the laughter died with a cough. He went back to staring out the window. 

Steve brought him a cup of the tea Wanda made once it was ready. The three of them ate, while Steve and Wanda made plans to make their way out of Africa.

Steve was right. Wanda was glad to be leaving the heat and jungle weather behind. 

That night, Bucky sat at the table, one of the notebooks from his bag laid out in front of him on the card table. He stole a pencil from Steve’s bag and prepared to write. The particular notebook was one for the present. New memories. Happy memories. He hadn’t started writing anything in it. The pages were still bright white, just the way they were the day he’d bought it.

Setting the pencil to the first page, he began to write about Darcy Lewis.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Shameless excuse to picture Steve Rogers with a beard because I love Chris Evans with a beard.
> 
> Also, I don't know much about Wakanda except for a few things I read, so the interpretation is mostly what I developed based on what little we've seen/know. I know they are supposed to be very high tech. I imagine a lot of new mixed with a lot of old, to the point that it looks a little anachronistic on both ends at times. We'll find out one day!!
> 
> Please comment, kudo, squee, or whatever :) xoxo, Katie


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